One Sail, One Sea
by AJarOfDirt
Summary: Hermione’s eyes beseeched Harry’s jade green ones as she scrutinised his person. She begged him to be right. Harry knew the feeling of loneliness all too well. He wasn’t trying to patronise her. He genuinely understood. *HHr*


**One Sail, One Sea**

_**Crack!**_

Harry abruptly sat up in bed. There was no mistaking what he had heard. Someone had just Apparated into his room. His room at Number Four, Privet Drive, no less. Immediately, there was something wrong with that situation. Any witch or wizard would know not to use magic with Muggles in the vicinity. Harry was certain the Dursleys had distinguished that odd crack as something unlike the ordinary crick of the back. The picture of them barging into the room like a herd of rhinoceros was not as unimaginable as one might think. However, more pressing matters pulled at Harry's thoughts.

Whoever had Apparated into his domicile hadn't spoken yet and that gravely worried him. Harry carefully reached towards his nightstand, wrapping his fingertips around the handle of his wand. He felt around the table for his spectacles in a panic, but could not find them. All the while, he was praying whoever was in his turf was as blind in the darkness as Harry was without his glasses. Still, he needed to at least try to discern who had intruded.

"Lumos," he whispered. At that point, he didn't care that the Ministry of Magic would swoop in on him and send him a summons for underage wizardry. Once again, Harry was put in a position where he had to defend himself. A tiny bulb of iridescent white light emerged from his wand tip and he held it out right in front of him while he tried to make things out in his blurred vision.

And there it was. Someone was standing by the door. It was a looming shadow of sorts. However, the silhouette cast on the wall outlined elderly features, with frazzled hair and a hunched back. Harry was also able to make out a slight reflective glint as the light graced a pair of half-moon eyeglasses.

"P-professor Dumbledore?"

"Well done, Harry," the aged wizard replied, clapping softly. "It's nice to see you are alert as ever, albeit a bit slow. Although you make me worry you don't get an ounce of sleep nowadays."

His intonation indicted amusement, although Harry could not see what was so humorous about the situation. He was almost scared to death. The fact that he still could not see clearly was not at all reassuring.

"Ah yes, you're in need of these," Dumbledore said. Harry noticed that he was approaching him and soon enough, he felt circle-framed glasses press into his palm. He sighed in great relief as he put them on, his world coming into focus before him. Harry found himself gazing upon the Hogwarts Headmaster's kind face. Despite Dumbledore's seemingly normal disposition though, one would not be in a dilemma guessing that he was still troubled.

"Is something wrong, Professor?" Harry asked apprehensively. "Is it Voldemort? Has he struck again? I've heard about all these Muggle killings recently that the Prime Minister's trying to cover up. It's all bull-"

"The Prime Minister is only doing his job, Harry," Dumbledore spoke quietly in interruption. "It would not help his campaign if he declared magical folk existed. But that is not my purpose of being here this evening. Get out of bed, Harry. You might want a change of clothes. And put a jacket on. We're going somewhere."

"But aren't you going to _explain_ anything to me?" Harry enquired as he leapt from under his comforter and scrambled around to find a fresh pair of jeans.

"I cannot put it into words that will do it justice. You will have to see for yourself."

Harry frowned has he sifted through his trunk for a t-shirt. He absolutely hated it when Dumbledore refused to divulge information to him. It was the Order all over again. Dumbledore's excuse was that he wished to protect Harry. Well, the latter was certainly old enough now, notwithstanding him still being underage, to _know_ things even if he couldn't necessarily fix them.

"Well, aren't you at least going to tell me _where_ we're going?" he asked again, finally digging his jumper out from the depths of his trunk.

"Tobago."

"_Where?!_"

"It's in the Caribbean," Dumbledore replied nonchalantly, but glanced at Harry to let him know not to ask any more.

Harry sighed in resignation as he made sure he had his wand tucked safely in his jeans pocket – although not the back one, as Moody had once warned him – and turned around to face Dumbledore, who had his arm extended.

"We're Apparating?"

"Yes, how else are we getting to the Caribbean, by boat?" Dumbledore said good-naturedly, yet with a subtle hint of disconcertment. "Just take my arm, Harry, and try to relax."

Harry swallowed as he tightly gripped onto the Headmaster's forearm. Before he knew it, they were off with a crack.

* * *

The sensation one experienced while Apparating was never very pleasant, however the long distance made it almost unbearable. Harry stumbled around a bit when they arrived, falling to the ground in giddiness.

"Next time, Professor, could we take breaks in between?" he gasped for breath and Dumbledore helped him on his feet.

"I keep forgetting you aren't very used to this. My apologies, Harry."

"So why are we here?"

"The answer is before you," Dumbledore remarked plainly, gesturing towards the open beach.

Harry turned his eyes to the beautiful, picturesque scope before him. It was like in one of the holiday postcards Aunt Marge would send back to Uncle Vernon – the leafy chartreuse palm trees, ecru sand and deep cerulean ocean were striking to behold. Only two things were out of place in what could have been a Kodak moment – the threateningly arsenic billows of clouds engulfing the sky, and the lonesome figure of a girl crouched by herself near the surf. Her unruly chocolate-brown locks were unmistakable.

"What's Hermione doing here?" Harry wanted to know, feeling alarm rush through his veins. "Is she okay-?"

"Listen to me, Harry," Dumbledore stated quietly. "Miss Granger has always been a dear friend of yours, by your side, am I right?"

Harry nodded.

"So do not press for answers just yet. Let her feel comfortable to share it with you."

"Does Ron know?" Harry cut in.

"Not as yet," Dumbledore started, holding his hand up to stop further interruption. "Harry, I may be old, but I am not a blind man just yet. I know Mister Weasley can be quite aggravating if he doesn't fully understand a situation. He is far more stubborn a young man than you are. I am heading to the Burrow to fetch him nonetheless, but it will take time and right now, Miss Granger needs a companion. Go on."

Harry exhaled roughly against the salty wind and agreed once more. Slowly turning towards Hermione, he made his way down the beach, carefully rehearsing what he would say to her. As the contours and shapes that made up her likeness came into full view, Harry noticed she was shivering from the sea breeze. Instinctively, he removed his jumper as he approached, finally hovering over her, waiting for her response.

It was when Hermione glanced up at Harry did he begin to fathom the severity of what had happened to her. Her cheeks were rosy and tear-streaked, her eyes were puffy and the whites completely bloodshot. She was still taking shaky breaths as she gazed at him with pleadingly. She was clutching what looked to be a man's jacket and between the folds, a woman's scarf was visible. She did not ask the reason for his sudden appearance.

"Mind if I sit?" Harry requested gently. Hermione did not reply right away, but her stiff nods were an inclination.

Settling himself next to her and draping his sweater over her thin shoulders, Harry reached a hand over and tightly wrapped his fingers around Hermione's cold hands. There was a deep sense of dread rising up within him so quickly and intuitively, he knew what had happened. He had no idea where his assumptions originated from, although he attributed them to the way she gripped the items in her hands. It was as though she was trying to hold onto something already gone.

He hadn't had time to collect his thoughts when Hermione spoke. However, she was scarcely lucid as well. "Holiday-… Death Eaters- …Ship-… Sunk it- …Mum and Dad- …D- … Dead-"

Her words seemed clogged at the base of her throat, struggling to emerge and yet something seemed to push them down. She wasn't even looking at Harry, but at the wide sea before her. Her clench constricted further and her lower lip began to quiver. She turned one of her hands to seize Harry's in return, and her fingernails dug so deep into the back of Harry's hand, it drew small droplets of blood. He felt no pain though, for the mere knowledge of death was excruciating enough. It didn't matter that he had never even properly met Mr and Mrs Granger before - they were the kin of his friends and thus Harry considered them close to kith and kin too. It ached all the same.

Harry freed an arm to wrap around Hermione's shoulders as she clung to him and wept. It wasn't like anything Harry had ever seen her do, for Hermione Granger never wailed. She never lamented this heavily; never grieved so much. He remembered how Ginny would tell him and Ron that Hermione would huddle in bed and cry to bed on occasion, but he had never been able to imagine it. A crying Hermione was such an absurd figment of his imagination that he shut it out completely. He thought he would not have to see her at her worst. Revelation hit him faster than the Hogwarts Express on full speed, and Harry shifted positions, bringing her into a proper hug as he too felt the sting of tears in his brilliant emerald greens.

* * *

"I just keep thinking about it," Hermione whispered hours later. Exhausted from crying, she leant against Harry's broad shoulder as they both lay on their backs upon the seashore. It was now nightfall, but there were no stars. The slate grey clouds still blanketed what could have been a gorgeous velvet sky.

Hermione still held onto the jacket and scarf, the items pressed against her chest. She sporadically brought them up to her nose for their scent.

"About what?" Harry soothingly asked as his fingers twirled around in Hermione's tresses.

"How it must feel like. They were enjoying a cruise, Harry. Now they're somewhere in the deep blue, caught up in a shipwreck. And all this while," Hermione sat up and started gaping at open water, "I was waiting for them to return. We were supposed to get on a flight back to England today. And I can't wrap my head around how quickly it all goes and fades away.

"I keep picturing it in my mind and it's all so graphic that my head hurts," Hermione said as she rubbed her temples with her forefingers and closed her eyes. She was conscious to Harry sitting up straight next to her, and felt his arms snake around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. Most of the time, she ran from this sort of intimacy – sprinted as fast as her legs would carry her – but Harry was always faster than she ever was. It was always extremely difficult explaining their relationship to everyone else. They were best friends; that fact was for sure. However, whenever they flitted in and out of the garden of romance, things got too complicated and they began to shy away. It seemed incongruously perverse and awfully clichéd that it took death to bring two lives closer.

"The fact that they'll never make it home scares me so much," Hermione breathed unsteadily. She was precariously over the edge once more. "I can't just bury these."

She gestured to the clothes in her hands, but Harry knew she also meant something much more.

"You won't have to," he murmured in her ear. "I still keep Sirius' things. And my father's. I dunno, it helps me get over it, I suppose."

"But doesn't looking at those things upset you?"

"It will for awhile. But for me, having them also means that their souls don't go anywhere even though we can't see them anymore."

Hermione looked at Harry thoughtfully, seemingly excogitating his contention, even though it already felt as though her own spirit was left behind somewhere.

Harry studied her as she immersed herself in a pool of her reflections. She was clearly off the deep end – her face looked longer and more stretched, and her eyes had transformed from its original sparkly mahogany to a dull bistre colour. She looked so much older, so much more worn, and it had only been a few months between since he last saw her.

Hermione chose to remain silent for a few minutes, so Harry took to his surroundings. Catching a glimpse of the night sky from behind the barricade of rain clouds, he pointed and said, "Look. You can finally see the stars. Well, a star. Better than nothing I suppose, right?"

He smiled warmly when he saw her peek up too. The single star seemed like the world's most beautiful diamond. It was the light when all else had dissolved into darkness.

"You won't be able to do this on your own," Harry whispered eventually, his lips brushing Hermione's temple. "I know it's a bit rich coming from me, but it's the truth. We'll need each other."

Hermione's eyes beseeched Harry's jade green ones as she scrutinised his person. She begged him to be right. She was never one to admit someone else was right other than her. However, she conceded it to be the reality of the circumstances. She didn't fully understand many things she was experiencing, and definitely needed guidance. Harry knew the feeling of loneliness all too well. He wasn't trying to patronise her. He genuinely understood.

Giving him the tiniest of smiles – although the biggest her strength would allow – Hermione quietly uttered her thanks, planting her lips across his briefly.

Closing his eyes, Harry returned the soft kiss, pecking her on the nose right after and tucking her head beneath her chin so her face buried into the base of his neck. His head rested on the top of her head. He briefly wondered where Ron could be, or whether Dumbledore had even gone to get him in the first place, but he pushed those thoughts away for the moment. They weren't as important as the moment itself, and as the promise made.

* * *

**A/N:** Fully inspired by the song _One Sail_ by Meg & Dia. Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, it belongs to the wonderful J. K. Rowling. Do leave your feedback; tell me what you think! It's how I learn as a writer. Thanks for reading!


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